A Rueful Tale
by Harmlessly Weird
Summary: How exactly DID little Rue end up on that stage with "nothing but the wind offering to take her place"?
1. Perfectly Messed Up

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Hunger Games, Rue, or Katniss. They all belong to the brilliant and beautiful Suzanne Collins, the best author in the world.**

Watching carefully, I pull back my slingshot and let go. Down goes a single groosling, right into my tree. I imagine the happy faces that Leaf, Daisy, Iris, Choco, and Rose will have when the groosling's roasting over the fire. My stomach grumbles just thinking of it.

At least we'll have a good meal the day before the dreaded reaping. It's my first year in the glass ball and I've signed up for eight tesserae. Rose and Choco, the twins, say that they'll take some tesserae next year instead of me taking them all. I firmly refuse. No way am I giving my sisters any higher chance of entering the Games.

I get into my nicest dress, which isn't really that nice, just a plain brown piece of cloth that would be scorned in the Capitol, even in District 1, as hideous garbage. But I like it. It's a souvenir from my dead sister Reyna.

Reyna was killed in the Hunger Games three years ago. She was just thirteen and I miss her more than I'd miss living. I'll do _anything_ to bring Reyna Oriole back.

I am shuffled into a roped-off section of twelve-year-olds. Choco and Rose have held on to me until here, but now they let go and drift off to my mother, watching me with little-disguised worry and fear.

_I'll be fine_, I mouth. I honestly believe it. After all, there are girls my age who had to pull out _twelve_ tesserae. I'm fine.

Syphia Moon, the District 11 escort, trills up from the front, "Hello, everyone! Happy Hunger Games!"

Ugh. Her voice is just so annoying, like a high-pitched bee buzz. My God, how does the Capitol get its people to speak in such impossibly funny accents?

She smiles widely at all of us, not even noticing that no one smiles back. "All righty! Ladies first, hm?" she asks in that horribly – horribly – _horribly_ hilarious buzz.

She reaches a heavily manicured hand into the glass ball. I feel an ominous breeze ruffle through the twelve-year-olds.

She takes out a small, white piece of paper. My heart feels like a small, energetic hamster. She carefully flattens it on her lap and reaches for the microphone. My heart is beating faster, and faster, and faster.

"A-hem. And our lady tribute is…

"Rue Oriole!"

I nearly faint.


	2. Goodbyes

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES. AT ALL. IN ANY WAY.

I slowly ascend the stage, keeping the tears down. Do not scream. Do not sob. Do not yell. Rue, no noise allowed.

Everything is quiet except for one noise…a sniveling, wailing sound.

Rose is crying.

I want to cry too, to break down and scream. But I have to appear strong.

Somewhere in the back of my mind there is an idle thought of…maybe I can win.

But it's crushed so quickly it's pathetic.

I take my seat. Syphia buzzes, "Congratulations, Miss Oriole! More excitement awaits!" She dips her hand into the boy's glass ball, and I'm praying it's not anyone I know.

She clears her throat again.

"Thresh Bushel," she says so clearly that I'm momentarily surprised at hearing the loss of the Capitol accent. Then the name registers.

_Not Thresh! No, this can't be happening! No! No! No…_

But there he is, my best friend's boyfriend. A good six feet and strong as an ox. He's excellent at grunt work.

I've never felt any particular attraction to Thresh, but I knew him. And as Syphia tells us to shake hands, I see a glint in his eyes. So similar to mine.

_You don't kill me, I don't kill you. I protect you, and you do the same for me._

No one in District 11 has ESP, but sometimes it seems like we do. I give a barely perceptible nod, agreeing that I will not kill Thresh. He offers me the faintest glimpse of a wisp of a smile. Then our hands are ripped apart and I'm taken to the Justice Building.

My family barges in. Rose and Choco have tear tracks on their faces. Their adorable faces. I want to cry myself. Little baby Leaf has no tears in her eyes. She doesn't know where I'm going, but I'm grateful for that. At least one of my siblings won't suffer the way I did over Reyna.

Reyna. I really can't think of Reyna right now. Her story is a real downer.

Iris and Daisy are crowding near me. Iris is practically in my lap, stopped only by my mother and father.

My mother, Dewdrop, has a face heavy with sadness. The loss of Reyna nearly killed her. I don't know what will happen to her when I die. I try to help.

"Mum," I say. She looks at me. She looks like she's on the edge of death herself. She was never very beautiful, but now she looks like some kind of tragic heroine.

"Mum," I repeat. She nods, proving that she's listening.

"Look, I know I'm going to die. We _all_ do. There's no chance I'm coming back alive. All right?"

Mum actually starts crying. I drag her into a corner.

"Mum, they need you," I say. "There's probably someone else in another district telling their mother this, but it's a requirement for _you_. Do NOT kill yourself when I die. Okay?"

"R-rue…" Mum stammers. "You're such a big girl now. Where did my little baby go?"

"Mum!" I nearly shout. "I grew up when you weren't noticing. Depression is _not_ an excuse to escape life, do you hear me. DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Mum gives a little gasp. I've never spoken in such a loud voice before.

"_You have to take care of them_! Mum, they need you. I am going to die, so you take CARE of your remaining children!"

"You know, Rue," my father says. He's so quiet. I hadn't realized he was there.

"What?" I say. I am not in a welcoming mood.

"You know who your mentor is?"

I haven't thought of it. "Um…it's Seeder, right? Thresh will have Chaff, and I'll have Seeder."

He nods. "Yes. Seeder. During her Games, she was just a tiny, flowery girl. She won her Games, Rue. She was small, she could climb. She won a Games."

"If you're suggesting I can win, this discussion is over," I say. I've never seen this side of me before. I've always been the sweet one, the gentle one. Never fierce.

Rose chokes out something. "Win for me, Rue."

I want to complain, to point out that there is _no possible way_ I can win. I'm just a little 11 girl. How will I survive?

"Ally with somebody," my mother says softly.

"What?" I say, surprised.

"Ally with somebody. It's what Seeder did," she says.

"I don't _care_ what Seeder did!" I explode. "I'm not Seeder!"

"You're just like her, Rue," my father says. We all sit in silence, my thoughts boiling in my head. _Seeder…alliance…death…Hunger Games…_

The Peacekeepers come and take my family away, and I'm shoved into a train. It's a Capitol train. Ten minutes later, I'm sitting in front of a TV. I realize I'm about to meet my mentor. Seeder.

They say she's just like me.


	3. The Others

Thresh enters. He's changed into a blue tunic and something else blue. I rack my brains for the name of the material that his pants are made of.

_Denim_. I think that's it. Denim. The richest workers get to wear denim when the braches start scratching. The rest of us learn to not think about the pain. Thresh is wearing denim. But he's not rich. Where could he have gotten the material, much less found a seamstress who made such precise stitches?

On the train. Of course. My room here must be stuffed with clothes even more expensive than denim. Most of the clothing must come straight from District 8.

I fleetingly remember the District 11 tributes from last year. Jasmine and Zane, I think. I had seen them both at school.

Then the door opens. Two people step in. They are people I recognize, but not from interacting with them.

No, it's time for me to meet Chaff and Seeder.

Both are remarkably normal-looking. Seeder has longish graying hair and olive skin. Dad and Mum had a point, she does look like me – the flighty way she holds herself, the small size. Her eyes are ordinary 11 eyes. Other districts appear to be spooked out by the golden brown color, but for us it's the norm.

All she does is smile and gesture to the TV. I nod and turn my attention to the electrobox, as Rose prefers to call it. Ours only makes fuzzy noises. It's not a television at all, really. But this…this Capitol TV is crystal-clear.

It hums and comes to life with the Capitol anthem and a reporter. He says, "Let's get ready for the reapings!" Except his accent is even worse than Syphia's, so it comes out as "Late'ssss gate radey for thue reapingss!" I want to cover my ears to block out the incessant buzzing of Syphia as the tributes go by. I have a notebook, and I carefully write down my competition.

_District 1:_

_Glimmer Sparks, 17. Beautiful. Volunteer._

_Marvel Winn, 15. Normalish. Career._

_District 2:_

_Clove Estorica, 18, volunteer_

_Cato Lowelfe, 18, volunteer_

I have to laugh at Cato's name. It just looks so much like "lowlife". But then I _see_ Cato, and the laugh just drops out of my voice. Seeder raises an eyebrow at me. I go back to writing, but all I write are the names and ages.

_District 3:_

_Myrna Xelder, 13_

_Charlie Shock, 16_

_District 4: _

_Calypso Haranara, 16_

_Logan Brine, 12_

I'm a little surprised. Usually Careers, like Logan Brine, wait to volunteer until they're older. Then I watch the actual recap of his reaping and realize that Logan Brine is _not_ a volunteer. No District 4 Careers volunteered for him. I actually have to feel sorry for him, even though he's about twice as big as me.

I continue writing. I see Seeder studying me and feel supremely self-conscious. Chaff is drinking something that smells like dirt from a bottle. Thresh is looking at the screen. I just missed the District 5 reapings and quickly glance at Thresh's notebook, copying down what I see.

_District 5:_

_Lana Vulley, 16_

_Tor Clash, 14_

Lana Vulley has red hair and a foxlike face. I'll call her Sneak.

_District 6:_

_Chloe Yonder, 13_

_Joseph Yonder, 13_

Twins. Chloe and Joseph Yonder are twins. Most people would think they were just unlucky siblings, but _twins_…I know from Rose and Choco that they will kill themselves before they kill each other. Maybe my first strategy should be to form an alliance with them? They won't kill each other. Then again, they might team up on me…

_District 7:_

_Sassafras Willow, 17_

_Rowan Kanfrisse, 15_

_District 8: _

_Satin Alse, 12_

_Ken Wicker, 17_

_District 9:_

_Artemis Alania, 16_

_Hadrian Ferl, 15_

_District 10:_

_Taney Tailbrush, 16_

_Xavier Cloven, 13_

_District 11:_

The spot where District 11 is supposed to be is unforgivingly blank, staring at me from my notebook. Slowly, unwillingly, my hand writes,

_Rue Oriole, 12_

_Thresh Bushel, 18_

District 12. District 12 never provides much of a challenge, so I am about to turn the TV off when Chaff, Seeder, Syphia and Thresh simultaneously say, "Wait."

The District 12 tributes. They're walking up the stage. One has raven hair. She volunteered for her sister. For some reason, both their names stick in my head – Katniss and Primrose Everdeen. Katniss, the volunteer, isn't even close to crying. I'm a little jealous. Then the boy is called. His name's Peter Mark or something like that. I don't really care. I'm transfixed by little Primrose Everdeen. She…she looks like a differently colored me.

I decide Katniss will be my ally, whether she likes it or not. She's too much like Reyna. If Reyna was alive she's even be Katniss's age, and I have no doubts that Reyna would volunteer for me.

The boy, eh. He looked strong enough. I guess if Katniss is his ally, he'll be mine too.

Maybe. Assuming Katniss doesn't kill me when I offer an alliance.

I really want her as an ally.

I really do.


	4. I Finally Meet my Mentor

Seeder has a quiet voice, but a powerful one. It sends an echo through the train. "What do you think?"

I want to run away, jump out of the train and run home to District 11. But no, they'll capture me again and give me a torturous, horrible death in the arena. I should rally favor within the Capitol.

"Rue?" Seeder asks, sounding worried. I realize how distant I must look.

"Sorry." I begin rereading my notebook, but a delicate hand closes it. I follow its arm and see Seeder looking at me.

"Rue, you can study your competition tomorrow," she says. "How about we have a little talk?" She frog-marches me into a room. I notice Thresh, Chaff and Syphia staring after us. My cheeks begin to turn red. After all, they're people, and I am very embarrassed. Seeder is not the wonderful mentor I was expecting.

She puts me in a chair and crosses her arms. Her eyes flit over me, and a tiny frown line begins to appear between her eyebrows. I squirm in discomfort.

"Rue Oriole?" she says. "That's your name, right?"

She doesn't sound too displeased, but I'm really not much of a tribute.

I give her a tight nod.

She smiles. "Seeder Clearlight. That was Chaff. I don't think anyone remembers his last name now, himself included." She wrinkles her nose. "No, he doesn't. I remember _specifically_ asking him if he did this morning and he said no. He's a drunkard."

I start to like Seeder. She has a carefree way of talking. Actually, you'd never guess she's killed people.

Then she explains to me that she never killed anyone. During her Games, _twenty_ tributes were killed in the bloodbath, two killed each other and by pure chance one drowned. Seeder was the last one standing. Her Games only lasted two days.

"That's off topic," she says. I hope that if I win, I'll win like her. Then I remember there's no possible way I can win. Especially if I'm trying not to kill anyone.

"What sort of strengths do you have?" she says.

"Um…" I begin. "Well, I can climb."

She grins. "Always a plus."

"I can use a slingshot."

"That means you can take down birds for a meal. Continue."

"I can jump pretty far. On the ground and in trees. But mostly in trees."

She staggers back. Her face has gone white. Like, _ice_ white. "You – can – you can jump – from tree to tree?"

I nod. What's she panicking over?

She takes a deep breath. "Rue, do you know how _impossibly difficult_ it is to do that, no matter how small or big you are?"

I shake my head. It's not difficult at all.

She takes another breath and seems to regain her demeanor. "Okay. Anything else? Any plans for alliances?"

"I want District 12," I say instantly. "The girl. Katniss Everdeen."

Her brow furrows. "Katniss Everdeen? The volunteer? Whyever do you want her?"

I shrug. "I saw her sister. And…I honestly think Katniss would try to protect me. Plus, she looks loyal. I don't want to kill her, so I might as well ally with her, right?"

"Right," Seeder says. "You sound like me at your age."

I laugh. Finally, my mentor is mentoring me.


	5. Recalling

Sorry if Rue is sounding too much like Katniss! I promise she won't be from now on. Thanks for reviewing! You know who you are.

After my little meeting with Seeder, we had dinner. It was amazing. The best food I've ever dreamed of rolled onto our table. I ate so much I almost got sick. I didn't even bother with the fancy silverware and lacey doilies. Thresh left as soon as dinner was over, but I stayed and the Capitol people gave me something very sweet and shaped in a circle. They call it a cookie and say it's for "desert", for some reason. All I know of deserts are that they're sandy. And what does sand have to do with these fabulously tasty cookies, of all things?

I wolf down my cookie and get up. I arrive at my rooms and get the shock of my life. Everything is so beautiful, I'm afraid to step in the place. I have some strange feeling telling me I'm going to somehow muddy the lovely bedclothes, crumple the carpet, or knock down one of the curvy glass clocks quietly ticking away. There's a wardrobe, too, a monstrosity of wood with curlicues engraved all over it. When I open it, I see hundreds – literally hundreds – of outfits, all lined up neatly and color-coordinated. So this is what Capitol rooms are like. I can almost forget that I'm going to be dead in a week. I slip into the first pajamas I see – some soft silky thing – and get into bed.

It's going to be a long night, full of contemplations about my death. Yippee. I just wish Iris was here. I could use her babyish, silly attitude right now. I usually overthink things like my death, and Iris could distract me from that. Or Leaf. Or Choco. Or Daisy. Or even my mother, of all people. I want my family.

Reyna's face drifts across my thoughts. I remember watching her die. There was this enormous Career from District 4 who just stabbed her through the back during the bloodbath. She never had a chance.

_And neither do I._

After Reyna died, a girl from District 7 won. Her name was Johanna Mason. She basically acted pathetic until the end, when she killed half the Career pack and then retreated. She stayed in the shadows until the last opponent, the boy from District 1, was left. She killed him with a thrown axe. His grotesque face as he died stays in my head.

Suddenly his face is replaced by that of Cato, that boy from District 2. I have an uncanny feeling that he's going to win these Games. Or maybe that girl, Glimmer, from District 1 will pull enough sponsors to beat him. I find it ironic that in these Games, I'm going to die, but I'm mentally betting on tributes like one of the idiotic Capitol people.

Syphia's buzzing is still ringing in my ears. I pull the comforter up to my chin and plunge, grateful, into dreamland. One would think that I'd have nightmares about Reyna dying, but it's like my brain is being kind to me when I sleep.

When I wake up, the train is slowing down. I hear muttering outside my rooms. Getting out, I find Syphia mumbling about how Cato is _definitely _going to win and she'll be betting on him. She doesn't notice I'm there until she finishes. Then she turns pale and whispers something about tea before darting away. Idiot.

And I'll have to put up with her for a week.

Kill me now.


	6. Smile Your Best

**I LOVE SCRUNCHIES. They're fun to play with. Rue likes them too. Just a little quirk from our favorite District 11 tribute.**

**I wrote Rue's arrival in the Capitol as a break between her long night on the train and her long, long, long, boring prep time.**

Thresh and Seeder are in the dining car. I manage to eat a few rolls and drink a glass of orange juice. This would be a feastlike breakfast in District 11 but in the Capitol is considered meager.

The train is slowing. I halfheartedly pull back my chocolate-colored hair into one of the scrunchies they gave us. It's a little funny that scrunchies have lasted for over five hundred years, but everyone has them in the Capitol. I found a few on top of a shelf in my bathroom. I selected a sparkly blue one. They're very fun to stretch and shoot across a room.

I'm in a gauzy dress that apparently tries to make me look like a waterfall. Blue and green gauze floats around me and the dress is shimmery cool fabric that pools around my feet like water. The overall effect is incredible before I remember that this is something a District 4 tribute should wear. I hurry back into my room and change into a simple brown dress like what I wore at the reaping but far more comfortable. I stuff a couple of the nicest scrunchies in my pocket.

The Capitol tunnel darkens around us. I reenter the dining car. Seeder looks at me.

"You look amazing," she says sincerely. I'm a little self-conscious in this plain dress, as she's wearing a fabulous red gown that makes her look like some kind of queen. Something is etched in her faint age wrinkles. Sadness. Why?

"Where's Chaff?" I ask.

"Drunk," Thresh grunts. He's right. Chaff staggers in a minute later.

"Hey…uh, good mornin'," he says in a slurred voice.

"You need to clean up," Seeder and I say instantly. He's a mess, covered in dirty brown mushy stuff that I don't even want to describe the smell of.

Maybe we _are_ alike.

Chaff leaves.

Thresh is quiet. Still my best friend's boyfriend. He's probably thinking of her right now.

Her name is Blossomer, Summer for short. She's a little taller than me. Her hair is long and black and always done in a practical ponytail. I miss her almost as much as I miss my family.

I try to imagine what's going on at home. There's an almost secret thing that we 11s do to commemorate a tribute, lost to the Games. We burn a picture of them as a symbolic way of saying goodbye. My family's probably doing it right now. I think of my father putting his arm around my mother's shoulders and saying, "There, there, Dewdrop. It's all right." Rose and Choco are almost definitely crying again. I vaguely wonder how they'll react when they see me in whatever horrid costume the Capitol stylist I'll get is sure to design.

Syphia's buzz fills the room. "Okey-dokey, folks! We're going to see the Capitol in all its glory in…seven minutes! Get ready, District Eleven!" She vanishes into her private room.

"Did you have Syphia during your Games?" I ask.

"No," Seeder says. "Chaff and I won before that woman was even born. We both had Cybele. She had blue skin but otherwise was almost a normal human being. I think she's dead. She was about fiftyish when she escorted us to the Capitol."

I don't mention Syphia's favoring Cato over her own tributes. I strongly dislike her. I _hate_ her. But she's going to be my Capitol link, the one person who can arrange with Seeder to give me gifts other than Chaff, who is so drunk he probably can't remember who I am. Syphia might even "accidently" give a gift to Cato instead. All I can hope to do is win her favor here before we get into the arena. Oh, well. I still don't have a chance, even if I get more gifts than I can hold.

The arena. In past years it's been a rainforest canopy, a desert, a place full of trapped food…I wonder what mine will be. I hope it's the "standard" arena – the classic kind, with a forest, a huge water source, and some kind of deadly but opportunistic land. That would be ideal, and actually not that unlikely. Many arenas have been "standard".

Syphia comes in again and tells us that Thresh's stylist is named Karkakasadara. Or Quarksaparasa, or something like that. Mine, she says, is named Eos. Both are girls. I like the name Eos. It's short and practical. Like mine.

I remember Summer. She was sunny and lighthearted. Her voice was thin and weak because she'd gotten the throat bug when she was little.

No one outside of District 11 really knows about the throat bug. I, personally, think the Capitol created it, knowing how much we 11s treasure our voices. It's a contagious, nearly undetectable disease that sweeps around like wildfire and leaves you almost unable to sing. It pretty much vanished a little while after Summer got it. Hm. Were they _aiming_ for her?

"Eos," Seeder repeats. "Lucky girl! You got _Eos_?"

"Why? Is she good?" I say stupidly.

"She's the best returning stylist!" Seeder laughs. Then her face darkens. "But there are rumors about a new one. Cinna Remus. They say…he and his partner will maybe even make District _Twelve_ nice-looking. I wish we had gotten him."

"Those are just rumors," Syphia buzzes. As if she believes they're "just" rumors. I think Syphia has gone her whole life without disbelieving one juicy piece of gossip, a quick whispered secret.

"Mm," I say. That's my most versatile sound. It can really mean anything and the person naturally assumes that you're agreeing with them.

"Yes, yes," Syphia says distractedly.

Chaff reenters. He's taken a shower or something and changed into a rumpled suit. Seeder takes one look at him.

She opens a purse that I've learned not to question the contents of and takes out a bright green pill.

Chaff, dazedly, still hungover, staggers over to her and squints at the pill.

"Take this," she commands. Chaff bursts out laughing.

"N-n-no. Th-that's a _mumble mumble_ pill," he says.

But he plucks it from her fingers and swallows it dry without hesitation, like his body knows that it will cause some good.

He collapses.

Seeder looks at him sadly. "He'll wake up in a minute. That was a chemical that counteracts the intoxicating properties of alcohol. They're pretty expensive, but I've learned to carry them around."

"Mm."

Chaff gets up. "Sorry about that."

God. He sounds like a person now, a real one, not a stupid drunk victor. Thresh blinks, which I think is a huge response to get out of him.

"Okay. So you're Rue. And you're Thresh," he says in that same voice. It's brusque, down-to-business, absolutely unlike Seeder's fluty tones. And unlike his own usual slurred ones.

Thresh and I nod. So he remembers something out of that drunken haze, after all.

"The booze keeps back the memories of my Games," he explains. "That's why Haymitch, my friend, doesn't take the pills. They destroy the amnesiac effect."

He seems so _normal_, suddenly.

**Yeah, I know this sounds like Katniss's reaction to Cinna, but remember that Rue saw Chaff all drunk – the normalness is not a result of dashed expectations, it's more like "Wow, he transformed into a human being!" sort of thing. Remember, this is happening parallel to Peeta beginning to wave and Katniss "realizing" he's trying to stay alive.**

"Capitol in _three minutes_!" Syphia buzzes from her room.

Seeder turns to us. "In three minutes, you will see a huge crowd. Rue, you act like you are a sweet little girl who couldn't hurt a fly if you tried. Remember, you're scared, unprepared, and totally alone. You think no one's supporting you. That kind of act plus your size will pull in at least a few sponsors. It's your best bet, Rue."

I nod. We've talked about my "innocent" approach several times.

"Thresh, you act like everyone's under you. You're the top dog," Chaff instructs him. Thresh grunts his assent.

We sit in silence after Thresh and I move so we can see the Capitol crowd when they appear. And they do. At first I think they're paintings. They're pastel blue and pink and green, with strange facial additions like jeweled eyes and cat whiskers and goat horns curling from their hair…

I remind myself that some of these people might be my sponsors. I instantly put on my most adorable face, which I've been practicing. Thresh really doesn't do anything but pick his teeth with a fancy toothpick.

Eleven other trains are arriving right now in different parts of the Capitol. They carry my competition and my potential allies. They carry twenty-three people that are going to be dead within two months. They carry deadly Careers, frightened kids, and people with such complicated backstories. My competition. Yay. I'm _so_ excited.

The only thing that _actually_ excites me is the prospect of meeting Eos. Maybe I'll meet Koroprausla if it comes down to it. Then again, if Eos looks like the rest of the Capitolines in this crowd, why don't I just wear the most ridiculous outfit of all time right now? It'll be better than whatever she'd give me.

The train whistles.

"Welcome to the glorious Capitol of Panem," says an automated voice.

I step out of the train into the glaringly cold Capitol sunlight.


	7. Prepped

**So, so sorry for not updating! My other stories are stealing my time. If you liked this, check out those. You can locate them on my profile. I never realized what juggling so many stories would do to me. **_**The Games of a Rebellion**_** was especially demanding. So, thanks for being patient, and let Rue return!**

Gah. I hate the Capitol assistants that they've given me. They chatter in high-pitched voices incessantly as they wash, dry, wax, and smooth lotion into me. It's extremely embarrassing. I wonder if Thresh is going through this, too.

Finally, a woman comes in and shoos them out like insects.

The woman is tall and pretty, if you define delicate and always-seeming-off-balance as "pretty". She has carrot-colored hair and normal blue eyes. She has thin diamonds instead of nails. Yuck. Then again, those would be useful in the arena, considering how hard they are. As I contemplate her nails thoughtfully, she says, "You're Rue?"

I nod, still looking at the nails. Is a week enough for a tribute to sneak somewhere and get fitted with those?

"Hi," she says, extending a hand to shake. She does it cautiously, almost reluctantly, as if I'll dirty her pristinely white hand. When I shake, though, she relaxes.

"I'm Eos. I'm your stylist," she says. As she chatters on about how we're going to have a great week, et cetera, I take in her appearance. There are little ribbons and rubies in that carrot hair, along with some purple and pink stones I can't put a name to. I rack my brains and remember that thousands of years ago, some Greek people named their goddess of the dawn Eos. I wonder if my stylist is trying to capture that dawn. Her face, neck, and hands are pure white. It's creepy, because I'm from District 11, where _no one_ ever works inside. We all have caramel tans. Eos scares me, both with her outlandish appearance and chattering voice like a baby mockingjay. Baby mockingjays are so high-pitched, unlike their mature selves. I used to have a pet mockingjay. I named her Pepper. Then Pepper flew away. I remember Choco crying.

Eos raises an eyebrow. "Put on your robe, Rue. Let's talk business."

I obey meekly. Seeder warned me in the train that _everyone_ has to be convinced of my sweet-innocent-harmless nature, my stylist included.

The room that she leads me into is spacious. The place is made of clear, unblemished, hardly even _shiny_ glass, giving the impression that all the furniture – mainly just chairs and rugs – is floating. I'm extra glad my flowery green-yellow robe is on now, because I doubt that this glass is one-way. There's a single table, but it's huge.

Eos waves me into a seat and indicates a feast in front of me. I gasp. The first thing I see is the huge map of Panem that Eos says is really a very thin cake covered in fondant and icing. It's amazing. It sits in the center of the table. I look at the twelve dishes surrounding it and gasp again.

The first dish is a small saucer full of little colorful gelatin gems. The next are some dark stones made out of slightly blackened meat. Then a stringy gray substance on top of thin wafers, made to look like a computer chip. I look at the next-to-last one and see a tiny replica of an orchard, made of real bits of fruit and marzipan leaves and trunks. Each dish represents one district. The coal-mining one looks the least appetizing, a hunk of burned stuff. Eos says that yes, it really is burned, but it tastes good.

As I eat, Eos just looks at me. When I finally finish, she says in her high voice, "Syphia's your escort. Right?"

I nod affirmatively and wipe my mouth with the napkin they've given me, embroidered with the Capitol seal.

She smiles. "Syphia's my sister."

I blink. Eos and Syphia look nothing alike. Then again, both of them have probably undergone more plastic surgery than everyone in the districts combined.

"She's not the greatest or most kind person," she continues, still speaking like she's trying for a soprano piece. "She has a knack for accidently insulting people."

She got that right. I remember Syphia planning to bet against me.

Eos spreads her hands, almost apologetically. "Sorry about her. Anyway. You have a very small build, Rue, a very small one. However, I have the dress that will fit you just perfectly."

She takes out a tiny device – about the size of her diamond thumbnail – and taps some microscopic buttons. The device lets out a long, loud, low _bleep_ that has no place coming from something so small. For a minute, nothing happens. Then the wall behind me explodes and I scream and dart across the room. Then I turn and stare.

The dress is yellow, canary yellow, with leaf patterns embroidered on it in hot pink. It's sleeveless and embarrassingly short, even for me. It's a two-piece dress with a huge gap in the middle. Skimpy and really, really ugly. I want to say, "I have to wear _that_?" But I hold my tongue. Eos, a _good_ stylist? How much more did Seeder get wrong?

Eos frowns and pushes one more button with a final _bap_. The dress ripples and turns, sliding into the wall, replaced by something that's more _my_ style.

It's a pretty, trim dress made of flowing yellow fabric, but not the shockingly bright yellow of the previous dress. This one is exactly my favorite color – a deep yellow that seems to mix the brightness of the sun and the mellowness of a parchment into one. It's beautiful. Little, precise stitches in brown and gold trace leaves, flower, and tree outlines on the dress. I can see, vaguely, that the first dress was a sort of prototype for this one.

Eos looks shocked when I ask her, politely, to turn around while I change. She obliges, however, and I put on the dress, wondering if I'll ever get any privacy with her. She buttons up the back and gives me some flowery jewelry – a slender orange garland and the like – and a delicate tiara made of gold, with flowers etched into it. I look like a flower goddess or something. Weak, small, and fragile. Exactly how I want to be seen. It's like Eos knew my approach long before this.

When she finally helps me into a pair of flat brown slippers, one of my prep team members pokes her maroon head in. She says, "Morisant said to get you two down there." She sounds like she's sighing on every second word. I begin to suspect that each Capitoline designs his or her own accent. They're all so different and so ridiculous, like their other fashions.

"In a moment," Eos says, now puffing white and pink powders all over my face. Some gets into my eyes and I lose track of the conversation as my face erupts in pain. Wow. Makeup _hurts_.

When my eyes can see again, Eos has put on lipstick for me and for herself – a rich golden lipstick that I, personally, think looks ridiculous. But if the Capitol likes it, on it goes!

She touches up the powders and mascaras and whatevers that she's put on me, then we go downstairs. Thresh is sitting in front of the TV, looking bored, wearing a suit made of rough brown cloth with felt leaves sewn into it. He sees my dress and the faintest flash of envy passes behind his eyes. Then he gets up and says, "You ready?"

"Yes," Eos pipes before I can say "Not really".

A few seconds later, another brightly colored Capitol woman pokes her head in through a door. She greets me with a nod. "I'm Carasinla Psala."

_Car-a-sin-la Za-la_. I vow to remember her name. She has a brisk and businesslike tone that makes me decide to like her. She sounds nothing like any Capitoline I've ever seen.

"Rue Oriole," I say. I try to keep the shaking out of my voice. Then again, I haven't had any luck with that for days, since I was reaped.

"Nice to meet you. The chariots are ready," she says, addressing Eos. "Shall we go?"

Eos nods, looking like she's going to be sick. I wonder why. We follow Carasinla – who insists that we call her Cara – to a huge stable with two identical chestnut horses reined to a flimsy-looking chariot. Thresh gets in first and helps me up. He has a faraway look in his eye and, for only the hundredth time, I wonder if he's thinking of Summer.

Eos reaches up and kisses my cheek. "Good luck, Rue and Thresh. Remember, they're going to love you!"

Right.

One of the horses neighs. I stare at it. The only animals that I've had an interaction with are birds; singing to mockingjays, occasionally killing groosling, sometimes – and _only_ sometimes – spotting bluejays and sparrows up in the trees. But only sometimes. Mockingjays ruined the natural habitats of those birds. So it's mockingjays I usually deal with. Mockingjays and people.

But these horses live and breathe too. It's very odd to feel the chariot shudder with each breath. Their fur is short and velvety. I resolve myself to pet them when we finish this ride.

District 10's pigskin-clad duo starts out in front of us. I start a countdown. _Five, four, three, two, one_...

A sharp _crack_ spooks the horses – and me – and they begin to trot, pulling our chariot. I instantly close my eyes as we burst into the air.

The roar is what reaches me first. It's a solid wave of sound. I catch a few scattered comments – "Oh, she's so _cute_!" and "She's too tiny" and "Look at that huge one!" – but mostly it's just a jumble of whoops, yells and cries of "Look!"

Then something happens. The crowd goes wild. I finally appreciate the full meaning of those words. I'm tempted to put my hands over my ears, but some instinct makes me turn around.

I stare at the District 12 tributes. They're _on fire_. Literally. My dress fades to nothing compared to them. They're waving, completely at ease, and then I notice a detail – their hands are wrapped together like they were soldered to each other. I look up at their faces. They're smiling. The boy keeps taking quick, wistful glances at Katniss, who seems oblivious to him. She mumbles something and he says something back. I feel more than a little jealous, although if my plan to create an alliance with Katniss continues perfectly, I'll have an advantage with a better sponsored girl as my ally. Still, I have a feeling that one of the two is going to win these Games, with the gifts they'll get. Probably Katniss, because the boy has the well-groomed sort of look that Careers think of as weakness.

We complete a circle and ride back into the Remake Center.

I get off and, remembering my pre-ride resolution, run my hand across one of the horses' flank. The horse snorts and someone rushes forward and gives it hay.

Eos comes running in. She looks mortified. "Oh, my God…" she says. "It's true. Cinna did it." She looks bleak. "He was my boyfriend in design school." She starts to give a weak chuckle. "He always told me he wanted to set District 12 on fire." She chuckles again. "Looks like he succeeded."

"Mm," I say.

Now I _know_ I need Katniss Everdeen as an ally. Such a sponsor-puller the Games have never seen.


	8. Isn't She Supposed to Help?

**I made her escort a tad bit smarter and more unlikable than most Capitolines.**

I stare morosely at the single spider clawing its way up the threadlike web hanging from the ceiling. It climbs an inch and falls two. I finally put an end to its misery and snip the web with my fingernails, letting it fall for just a second before I stomp it. They didn't give us anything, like scissors, that we could commit suicide with.

Tomorrow will be the interviews. I reflect over my last five days here.

_The training room is lined with weapons that I can't handle. So I just followed the only somewhat small-sized person in the room, Katniss, and her friend, the boy. Friend, right? They acted like it. They laughed and did their activities together. I followed them and completed the same activities._

_Finally, they noticed me, and Katniss let me work alongside them. I worked only on my strengths, so hopefully she noticed me._

I play with the snippet of web still clinging to my fingers until it turns into a tangled silky mess. I drop it down the trash chute, slip on a nightgown, and fall back into the bed, which is soft and smooth. It's almost unbelievable how luxurious a Capitoline's life is. Everything is perfect – the food, the furniture, the showers, the clothes…

I close my eyes and resolve to get some sleep. I don't want to act dumb and zombielike tomorrow in front of Panem.

My last thought before tendrils of sleep claim me is that I hope I like whatever Eos chooses for me.

Sunlight flares across my face, beneath my eyelids, and I hear Syphia and Chaff arguing. I'm awake in a second.

" – smart enough, you dumb nut, she's not stupid!"

"I didn't say that!" Syphia buzzes. "Seeder's fine! It's that _girl_ that's not!"

Chaff begins yelling. I can imagine his face turning cherry red.

"She is, you idiot Capitol woman! You can't just ignore your tributes and sponsor someone from _District Two_!"

"Why can't I? I succeeded last year."

"What?"

"That girl and boy last year stood no chance if I _drowned_ them in gifts. So I gave them to the District Six girl that won."

"You – you despicable, lying – you –" Chaff sputters.

"Now what's going on here?" Seeder's calm, steely voice rings even through my door. "Chaff, sit down, you look like you're having a nervous breakdown. You too, Syphia. Where are Rue and Thresh?"

"She's planning to give all the money to District Two!" Chaff shouts.

"Is this true, Syphia?"

"No! Chaff's framing me! He threatened me and –"

"He did _not_!" That's me. I'm surprised at myself and try to shut up, but it's like something else has taken control of my vocal cords. "I heard Syphia saying that last year she gave Jasmine and Zane's money to the girl that ended up winning."

"Rue?"

"I'm in my room." I stuff on a pair of pants and a shirt and open my door. All three stare at me.

"Girl –"

"You're about to say I'm too young to know what's going on. I'm twelve, thank you very much, and personally think I have about ten times as much common sense as you did when you were my age."

Syphia closes her mouth, her eyes wildly accusing. Seeder tries to hide a grin behind her dainty little hand. Chaff mutters something about spunk getting me killed.

Syphia's eyes narrow. Today her face is tattooed in blue and green and her eyes have changed color to a sort of pink-orange. The overall effect makes her look like a Martian or something.

"Girl, you must have heard wrong. Chaff yelled insults at me. He threatened to stalk my sister, who has no job. My only sister, too! And –"

"Your only sister has a comfortable job as my stylist," I say, trying to keep back a laugh at how pathetic she is.

Syphia stiffens. "Eos? How do you know?"

"She told me."

"Girl –"

"Syphia, please be quiet." I turn to Seeder. "Is there any way we can get rid of her? Before the Games start, please?"

Chaff guffaws loudly, but Seeder frowns, a little crease appearing between her graying eyebrows. "Rue, a little more polite. Syphia, you – go find your sister and vent on her, not Rue. And Chaff and I are going to be handling Rue and Thresh's gifts, not you."

Syphia nods sulkily and leaves, but not before hissing, "You'll get your worth, girlie. Just you wait."

I smile sweetly. "I assume you'll try to dye me the way you are to torture me?"

Even Seeder hides a smile as a fuming Syphia leaves.

"Rue, an escort that hates you is not a good thing to have when it comes to sponsoring."

"So what? I'm going to probably die in the bloodbath anyway."

Seeder lets out an exasperated sigh. "Rue! How many times do I have to tell you that you are _not_ participating in the bloodbath?"

"Even if I run, I've seen the District Two girl with knives! There're no good archers but still, knives are good enough for long distance! I'm not fast enough for that girl to miss me."

"No archers?" Chaff says, a strange tone in his voice. "_None_? Not even the District Twelve girl? I bet, with her build, if she tried, she'd probably be an excellent archer."

"None," I confirm.

He nods and goes back to drinking a goopy yellow muck from a glass bottle.

Seeder sighs again. "Rue, you're plenty fast enough to get into whatever surrounds the Cornucopia. Don't underestimate yourself."

"I can't swim, I can't use most weapons, I'm weak, I can't wake up quickly," I reel off. "That sounds like a lot of weaknesses."

"You can run, you can jump, you can climb, you can land on your feet, you can use a slingshot," Seeder challenges. "That's more strengths. Now go change into something else and come to breakfast."

I glance down at what I pulled on and grimace. A hot pink shirt with a shockingly low collar and long fuzzy green pants. Like a Capitoline would wear.

I nod and walk back into my room. I change and leave again.

Breakfast is quiet. Syphia is nowhere to be seen. Thresh looks back and forth between a sullen Chaff and a silent Seeder, then brings up the subject of her absence.

"I probably just destroyed any chance of favorability with her," I tell him. "She's probably cursing me and sticking pins into a doll in her room."

"You?" Thresh says in astonishment.

Chaff relays the events of this morning in a detached voice as I chop up my pancakes into mush and eat it with a spoon. Cara Psala wrinkles her nose a little. But pancake-syrup mush actually tastes pretty good. More like sap straight from the tree.

Finally, Eos finishes her last tiny scraping of pink dusty stuff, and I turn to Seeder and Chaff.

"We'll be coaching you today," Seeder says. "On two things – form and approach. I'm doing form. You'll spend two hours with me and an only hour with Chaff on approach because you pretty much already know the drill. You'll begin prep time again after midafternoon snack. Okay?"

I nod. Thresh does too.

"Good. Rue, you stay with me. Thresh, you go with Chaff and come back here in two hours. You can spend your extra hour eating, going to the roof or wandering the halls, taking a shower, whatever."

Thresh nods again and he and Chaff exit.

"Well." Seeder looks over me again and I feel the way I did on the train – that she's disappointed, that she's overestimated me.

"What?" I finally say, just to break the pressing silence.

"Nothing."

There's really not much to practice. At home I was a smiley, giggly girl. It helped when I was asking people for food. Now I just up the smileyness and gigglyness and try to act small and demure at the same time. It's not too hard, considering the fact that I am pretty small. I'm even enjoying myself. The two hours flash by.

Finally, Seeder takes out a small circular device with numbered buttons on it. She presses 2 and the device beeps. She says into a speaker on the bottom, "Chaff, please get Thresh and send him here." Within a minute Thresh comes in and I leave to locate Chaff.

**Whew. I try not to make my chapters too long because I know from experience that long chapters = boring chapters = less reviews. Speaking of reviews, please press that little blueish button down there! It would help me become a better writer. My grammar, my spelling, my style, anything. Just press the button, flame me or praise me, and press _send review_. See how simple it is?**


	9. Interviewee

"Rue, honey?" The voice trying to coax me out of bed is Seeder's. She sounds almost concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I say. I've been awake so long. Staring at the ceiling, pondering fate, knowing I'm dying tomorrow morning. Lovely, isn't it?

My morning whirls by. I eat the decadent stuff I get for breakfast. My prep team, whose names I've now learned (Vitellia, Gnaius, and Aurecia), put little puffs of powder here and there, redden my cheeks and lips, and then cover my eyes in glittery dust. I keep them screwed shut as Vitellia (who is about six-seven and has frighteningly bright yellow eyes, lips and nails) slowly rubs the dust away. Aurecia, with her annoyingly brightly colored pink skin and hair, waxes my arms and legs as if my hair could have regrown in six days. Gnaius, the only mildly sensible talker out of the three, tries to keep me entertained with odd jokes about those in authority. I've never heard of the Senior Ambassador to District Two, General Julius Teer, or the Searchers. I _have_ heard of President Snow and his dead wife, Amaelia. But Gnaius can't keep me entertained because, of course, I'm totally naked. That puts a damper on our relationship.

Finally, Aurecia is done with the pain, Vitellia closes the last tube of makeup, and Gnaius has shut up. It's time for me to see Eos again.

She looks only mildly different than she did at the breakfast table – her hair ribbons are slithered in between her now cornrowed hair instead of in bows on top.

"I have your dress," she says in her high pitch.

She presses a button on a fob in her hand and Vitellia comes in with the dress. My breath catches. It's a wonder made of yards and yards of white gauzy fabric that flutters without any provocation. There are even _wings_ on the back. It's the cutest dress I've ever seen.

Eos slips it over my head and moves it a little until it fits snugly. She gets Aurecia to stencil a neon yellow butterfly design on my face. Then she begins working on my hair, cornrowing it like hers.

"Keep it like this in the arena," she instructs. "It suits you. More sponsors."

I nod as she nimbly catches a glossy tress that fell from her hand.

When she's done, I get to look in the mirror at last. I look like I could begin to fly at any moment – I look weightless. My face seems to have shrunk away from the light on it. I'm positive Eos knows my approach.

The cornrows are covered in glitter. I know I'll make some impression at least in this.

We're carted out. I remember very little until I'm in a seat, watching the absolutely bee-you-ti-full District 1 Glimmer, fierce District 2 Cato, and quiet, sneaky District 5 Lana/Sneak. And, of course, sneaking jealous looks at Katniss and Peeta. In their clothes, they look almost as stunning as they did last night.

Then it's time for Rue Ashaina Oriole. I wonder vaguely how they got my middle name – they didn't call it during the reaping.

I hear a collective inhale as I step up. Good. _Collective inhale_ is good. Not a gasp, but definitely a difference.

"So, Rue," Caesar Flickerman says. "You're obviously well outfitted today. I love your dress – you look like you're going to take off!"

I smile shyly, blush, giggle, whisper "yes" as the interview goes on. I'm mentally counting down. _A minute_.

"And that training score. A _seven_. Amazing job, Rue, you must have done something astounding. Any hints as to what it was?"

I giggle again and say, "Well, if I survive long enough to find _trees_, I daresay you'll find out." I giggle again as if what I just said merits any humor. It's my greatest skill, my ability to soar from tree to tree.

"I'm sure you'll survive long enough. Look at you! A seven, and your size. Astonishing."

_Two minutes_.

We go on. And on. I'm finally at three minutes and the buzzer goes off.

I go to my seat, watch numbly as Thresh basically grunts his way through the interview, and watch as Katniss – by far the most remarkable looking here – takes the stage.

I catch snippets.

"Sorry. My lips are sealed."

A giggle, a twirl, a gasp from the audience.

"Her name's Prim. I love her more than anything."

"She said try really hard to win. I swore I would."

Then Katniss's turn is over and it's Peeta's time.

He knows how to talk, I have to give him that. He's captured the audience by the end, when he's talking about his girlfriend.

"So, you win, and you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

"I don't know. Winning…won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?"

"Because…" He seems to be struggling for the first time tonight. "Because…she came here with me."

At first, we're all numb. Totally numb, dumb, plumb. Don't know where the plumb came from, but it rhymed.

Then it's pandemonium, and his three minutes are over, and Katniss is blushing as red as her dress, and we're shuffled out.

I go to bed that night.

And dream of love.

**Aw…wait…another rushed…well, not really cliffhanger, but a rushed ending. I told you, my _specialty_. Review, please please please. Thank you.**


	10. What Time is it? Game Time!

What time is it? Game Time!

I yawn and stretch. My last morning to myself, without cameras dogging my every move and recording my sure-to-be-gruesome death.

I get up and go with Seeder and Eos to the hovercraft pad, where Thresh, Chaff, Syphia and Carasinla Psala (see? I remembered her name!) are waiting. Syphia humphs and turns away. Chaff shakes my hand. Seeder and Cara give me hugs. Then Cara and Eos vanish into a craft somewhere, to meet us in the Stockya – I mean, Launch Room.

I tell Thresh goodbye. There's a silent moment between us. _You don't kill me, I don't kill you_. Just like at the reaping.

Then I climb into the craft. Or at least I start to. The ladder _freezes_ me in place like…like…like…well, like something. Someone draws the ladder up higher into the hovercraft.

A young woman with seemingly natural red hair and at least seven piercings in just one of her ears approaches me. She smiles grotesquely, revealing green teeth patterned with blue dots. She wears a white lab coat. My eyes are frozen looking at her. _Great_.

"Okay, Miss Oriole, please stay still. I have your tracker here."

They _track_ us?

She comes closer almost hesitantly, as if I'll lash out and bite her. I wish I could. I'm still frozen, though.

"I'm Pequiza," she says softly. "Just stay still." She takes another step, prepares a needle carefully and plunges it into my forearm. My normal, perfectly _mobile_ self would wince, but I can't do anything.

"All done!" Pequiza says. The ladder releases me and I blink my burning eyes several times. I glare at Pequiza, who looks unperturbed.

For the entire ride, Pequiza tries to make conversation. Probably for the bragging rights of actually speaking with a tribute. What I glean –

One, Pequiza is stupid.

Two, all Capitolines are brainwashed – kind of – into being stupid. With a few notable exceptions.

Three, Pequiza is stupid. I might have mentioned that.

Four, if Pequiza is a _doctor_, then Panem is headed for some serious trouble.

We finally land and I almost run out of the craft, happy to get away from the incessant chatter. Eos is waiting.

She shows me my clothing. Okay – not bad. Hooded jacket for warmth. Green and brown – useful for camouflage. I'm not a giant boot person, probably because I've never worn them – in Eleven you want sandals. But the boots and the clothes fit comfortably, if a little loosely. _They didn't have extra-extra-extra small._

Eos and I wait. I decide I'll need sugary energy to run from the bloodbath. So I eat a couple of tiny cakes – _cupcakes_, Eos calls them – and pastries filled with jam and chocolate. They feel like sawdust and taste worse. I'm facing my imminent death, and I can't even enjoy my last decent meal. Pity.

I drink some water.

Eos finally moves aside for the glass tribute tube to surround me. I blow her a kiss and she smiles sadly. Of every Capitoline I've met, Eos is the only one that seems remotely human – not human, just remotely human.

The tube begins to rise and I squeeze my eyes shut.

When I land, I carefully open them and look around. Cornucopia – check. Six bloodthirsty Careers – check. Katniss Everdeen – check. Peeta Mellark – check. Thresh – check. Random other innocent kids – check. _Me_ – sadly, check.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games begin!"

I have my minute.

Then I smell trees.

Forest – CHECK! I turn my head and examine the sparse trees that thicken farther on. Yes, yes, _yes_!

I think thirty seconds are up. I frantically survey the supplies. Okay, a tiny brown pack is literally two inches from my feet. Great, I'll pick that up and sprint. A plain – no. Lake – I'll try and get dew from the forest, if I survive longer than two minutes.

_Dong_.

The gong. I grab the pack and run. The boy from Four – the guy that's my age – spots me and bares his teeth. _Career after all_. He runs and I see muscles. He's going to try and kill me right now.

Adrenaline is my savior. It takes over my blood and I zoom into the trees.

_Climb, Rue. Get higher up. Now!_

Lovely, now I have an internal voice telling me what to do. Although climbing does seem the best course of action. I pick a random tree, sling my pack over a shoulder, and start up. Someone gets a rock – a thrown one – smashed into the head of the guy following me. He doubles over and passes out, mouth hanging open. I suppress an urge to throw up and keep going higher until I'm safely concealed.

It's the girl from Four. She comes up and stares at him. Finally, loud enough for me to hear, she says, "Too young for us. Useless." Then she draws a long knife and ends his life quickly. I look away as the boy's last tortured cry comes up.

She does a scan of the forest, trying to find what the boy was following. I hold my breath and pray my heartbeat won't give me away.

The girl's eyes pass over my tree and I release a pent-up breath of relief.

Mistake.

She turns back and squints at me. Then she shouts an alarm and I get moving.

The One girl – the pretty, flirty one – comes running up next to the one who spotted me.

"Calypso," she says, "where?"

Four growls. "Right there, Glimmer!"

But I'm gone. I flit from that tree to the next. Glimmer shouts, but I'm gone.

I keep going until I'm fairly sure I've lost them.


	11. Tracking

I got away from the Cornucopia fast. Before I die I'll have something that I can be proud of, then. I outran three Careers. Or at least…outflew, or outflittedfromtreetotree, anyway.

I stay up in my tree. It's very thin, not the best for hiding, but I'm near the top and my size lets me blend. It's a pine, I think. Tall with waxy, dark green, needle-y leaves. The fresh smell of it wafts up my nose, refreshing me. I feel the adrenaline from earlier settling down. I was moving for the last few hours, so I'm probably at least several miles from the Cornucopia by now. I'm exhausted. I try to quiet my frantic sucking of breath, and recline in the tree, opening my pack.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

I almost drop the pack, but manage to grab it again and sling it over my shoulder. The cannons. Eleven. I wonder if anyone I remember was killed. I'll find out at night. I'm pretty sure Katniss survived.

It turns out I don't need to wait until night.

I watch Katniss pass right under me. She has an orange pack and a knife. _Good for her_. I know if I want my alliance plan to work, I should reveal myself right now. But something keeps me from doing that.

She uses the knife to cut some stuff from the tree. She puts it in her mouth, sort of gags, then begins chewing and walking again.

_Pine bark_. I forgot. We have next to no pines in Eleven. I drop down once she's out of sight behind a clump of bushes and find a nice sharp rock. I find the hole she's left and get some bark out of it. I decide to follow her.

I get my pack and get up into the highest tree I can see. There she is – still walking. I lower myself and jump into the next tree as quietly as I can. And again.

We continue for an hour, during which the sky gets continually darker. I feel a chill sweeping across my tree and shiver. I loathe the cold. Katniss stops and uses a wire to do something. She's from Twelve – why is she setting snares? Hunting is illegal. If she's a huntress, she should have her back whipped raw, and maybe she'd even be dead.

We continue for five minutes or so, to a willow clearing. I sit back in my willow. She walks over to another willow and easily climbs it. She rolls out a sleeping bag. I almost moan in longing. Cold is starting to easily penetrate my jacket. I wish _I_ had a sleeping bag.

I watch, absolutely silently, as she straps herself in and pulls branches around her. You can still see her, but she's somewhat camouflaged.

The anthem plays. I watch the faces, not too concerned over who lived and died. Okay, the girl from Three. Then – yes, the boy from Four, the one that was killed by his district partner after trying to kill me. Sneak's still alive. I wait till we get to Eleven, but Thresh is too. Well, of course he is. Peeta survived as well. Katniss relaxes and stops moving. I pray she's asleep.

I drop and walk over to a berry bush that she missed, shivering uncontrollably. Good. Wheatberries. We eat these in Eleven all the time. We call them that for their golden coloring. I strip off a handful and put them in my mouth, relishing the moisture that comes gushing out. I finally realize how _thirsty_ I am. Lingering panic kept me from noticing it. But if I can find more wheatberries, I'm good to go. I wonder how Katniss missed the gold. Maybe she doesn't know about wheatberries.

I open my pack quietly. A full water skin. A pair of socks, some iodine, and a bottle of pills labeled _Poison – dissolves in water._ I've already wrestled with myself over if I will kill. I decide _maybe_, and keep the poison pills.

The pack was fairly far from the Cornucopia, so that's all that's in it. I wonder how Katniss got the sleeping bag. _Oh well_.

I walk off to where Katniss was messing with the wire. Two snares. One has already caught a rabbit. _Nice._ I take it, telling myself that this is the Hunger Games. I try to reset it best I can.

I pad back and go up my tree. Katniss is still asleep. I shiver again and my teeth almost start chattering. I finally end up zipping up my jacket, pulling on the hood, putting my extra socks over my hands, and wrapping flexible branches around me. I manage to fall into a disturbed sleep, where montages of visions of death by hypothermia overtake my dreams.

_Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!_

I blink awake, then realize that I have a death grip on my willow branches. I let go slowly and go higher up the tree. It's so cold now that I can feel the skin on my face cracking a little. Disgusting. I carefully shift to face the snapping.

A flash of red appears a little farther out. A _fire_? Is Katniss _insane_? She has a sleeping bag! I instantly revise my plan for an alliance.

But no, I see a little shifting in Katniss's tree. She's still there. It's another out of the thirteen competitors left. Three of us in this one spot. Funny.

But _not_ funny, because fires are like flares. Worse, even. They say, "I'm either too wimpy to eat raw food, or I'm too wimpy to brave the cold. So come kill me and get me out of the way!"

Katniss makes a tiny noise, but holds back.

We both sit frozen for a few hours, watching the fire flicker and dance, waiting, waiting…

And then I hear it. Voices. Boys and girls. And the only large alliance that's probably formed is a Career alliance.

A scream, a cry for mercy. I feel horrible. I mean, seeing the District Four boy die was bad. But he was trying to kill me. As for _her_, I don't think she killed anyone. Maybe she's stupid, but she's innocent. One of the boys crows, "Twelve down and eleven to go!"

I _know_ I'm going to throw up. Killing is not in my comfort zone. Death in general is not in my comfort zone. But I stay still.

There are a few more noises, some muttering, and then the same guy says, "Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking."

They come toward us. I hold a breath, let it out slowly, quietly. I'm glad I'm high up.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead."

"She's dead. I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?"

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

_I_ know why the cannon isn't firing. Two perfectly vulnerable girl tributes are locked, frozen, utterly still, in the trees on either side of the Careers. Getting one of _us_ killed would guarantee two cannons. The girl is most likely already dead.

In the dim light, I see a head of blond hair glance up into Katniss's tree. He starts, taken aback, as the others begin arguing. Instantly, I know who it is. Peeta. Why is he with the Careers?

It doesn't quite shock me, though, considering he didn't sell Katniss out yet. His gaze sweeps up my tree and he sees me. I get ready to run, and run fast. But he just winks – it's hard to tell, considering how bruised he is – and says loudly, "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

Katniss shuffles, but the Careers don't hear her, thank goodness.

He can lie very well. I know that he's trying to direct attention away from us, and I'm tremendously grateful. But _why_?

He shoots one last look at Katniss's tree, then goes back with a knife.

The Careers instantly begin talking about killing him and insulting Katniss's dress. They're just jealous. Peeta comes back.

"Was she dead?"

_Yes, she was,_ I think, _but the Gamemakers want you to think she wasn't_.

"No, but she is now. Ready to move on?"

Not just very well. He lies like a pro. Like a spy or something. He radiates conviction.

They run off as pink light washes over us. A hovercraft appears after a mockingjay makes a very strange, high-pitched call. Katniss whispers something and drops out of her tree. She goes to check on her snares and I feel guilty. But she comes back with something and cooks it over the embers of the dead tribute's fire. Then shoots off, away.

I skin the rabbit with my rock. Then I come out of the tree – risky, I know – and find that the embers still burn when I touch them. I start a small fire, _very_ risky, but the Careers will just think the smoke is a remnant of the other girl's. I cook the rabbit and eat a small piece. I know I won't starve. Actually, right now, I have more food than I've ever had before. _Meat_!

I eat a nibble and savor the taste. Then I survey the clearing. Yes, I'll survive. This clearing is a gold mine. There are a few tiny pink-white flowers that signify wild onions, and the tops of all kinds of other roots. Maybe Katniss didn't spot this because she needed to get away from the Careers. But the Careers won't come back any time soon. I dig up the onions and other tubers and return to my willow.

Can I relax?

No. This is the Hunger Games. Kill or be killed.

After a day and a half of roosting in trees and only being spotted by Peeta after he saw Katniss, I'm starting to trust my ability to stay quiet and hidden. I start off in the general direction the Careers went in, leaping from tree to tree as silently as possible. Their loud, obnoxiously confident chatter easily leads me to them. They're happy to talk loudly because they know everybody's terrified of them.

I find them at a stream. When the doll-faced one says they should get back (I assume to the Cornucopia), they all chime in and agree.

"Come here, Lover Boy," District Two jeers. "Carry our packs for us."

"You're as useless as that Eleven girl, and you need at least twice as much food," says District Four.

I'm insulted.

Peeta rolls his eyes and takes their packs. I watch him closely. He has a knife strapped to his belt, but no pack of his own.

When they leave, I descend my tree, refill my water skin and run off in the direction they went. When night falls, they camp, and I stay far behind, freezing through another night in an oak.

I'll follow them to the Cornucopia. It may do well to know what they have up there.

The new day dawns, and they begin to move. I start off after them.


End file.
